The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel
by GAMercy
Summary: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief.
1. Chapter 1

Story Title: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

**Story Author**: GAMercy

Story Overview: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

Rating: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

Warnings: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

Author's Note: With too many new ideas streaming into my head for my poor overworked mind to possibly hold, I have been forced to start another Rings story on this account, with my first LotR story left sadly incomplete for lack of inspiration. This one looks to be turning out much shorter than the first, which hopefully means that I shall have it all finished soon and be able to move on to the myriad of other ideas that plague me night and day to put them in pen, or, rather, computer script, I suppose.

It was commonly known between individuals who had ever met a blue wizard that they were hardly anything but trouble. Blue wizards, as the people had discovered soon after they'd arrived on shores of Middle-Earth, were natural born tricksters who held a simple, childish delight in all things silly, rude, and inconveniencing, usually thought no further ahead than their next planned prank, and, after a time, troubled themselves little with the order of the world. What mission they might have once come with was lost, though they eventually made their way back from the far east to which they had first traveled, they no longer held much interest in the troubles of the people they had been sent to serve. An encounter with one of this sort was hardly ever helpful or productive, and those with foreknowledge of their ways often took great pains to avoid them rather than have dealings. Thankfully there were only ever two blue wizards to come to Middle-Earth, and it was quickly learned that it was better for one's health to encounter Romestamo the blue than Morinehtar the blue.

Romestamo, known in Valimar as Alatar, was a robust, rosy-cheeked little bungler who was lucky enough to somehow survive the far east into which he had traveled and whose spells, however carefully they might have been planned, always went awry. He enjoyed performing his feats for village children, who were always enthusiastically impressed with his art, despite the fact that he usually only managed to summon all manner of tropical fruits rather than the rabbits he promised. He played harmless practical jokes that rarely ever ruined anything more than a hard day's work, which could always be done again, or destroyed anything but nerves. In fact, he did often accomplish some good through the bringing of smiles to otherwise world-weary faces, for laughter, it was said, was the best medicine. He had acquired, through sheer accident, a traveling companion in the form of an unembodied elven spirit named Tithenon who had at first made a most reluctant attendant; it had been very disconcerting for the poor elf, to be summoned all the way from the halls of Mandos, in which his spirit had resided and went about quietly minding its own business, simply because Alatar had cast a summoning spell for a 'scroll' and had inadvertently acquired a 'soul' instead. But after a time Tithenon at least became resigned to his dependence on Alatar, though the wizard could not find a spell to send him back, he might one day lead him back, and used whatever influence he had over him to spur the fumbling wizard on to tasks of good, or at least keep him to acts that didn't do too much harm, as it would have been quite impossible to keep the wizard from having his 'fun.' Morinehtar, however, was an entirely different matter.

Called Pallando by those who knew him on the blessed shore, he was as far from a harmless, incompetent bungler as he could be. His sense of humor was dark and he found more amusement in malicious acts than simple jokes. Wherever he went he provoked quarrels and created strife between good people, friends and neighbors. He twisted words and sowed seeds of discontent to bring about chaos and sorrow for his own questionable amusement. There were few as met him that came out of the encounter unscathed, for mischief against all people was his chief delight. Perhaps it could have come that Alatar became so as well, but he at least had the conscience of Tithenon to guide him wherever he went, while Pallando had none. As it was the two blue wizards were constantly at odds, one usually striving to undo the work of the other. Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin, was one elf who learned the ways of Pallando and Alatar through much trying misfortune.

It came about that the twice-born defender of Gondolin was introduced to the wizard Morinehtar the blue through the means of the wizard, his friend and traveling companion, Gandalf the grey, who had hailed his fellow wizard as Pallando; and so did Glorfindel always call him to his face, though after a period of dealing with him, he developed other names for him which were rather less charitable and best not to mention here.

Glorfindel had taken up with the wizard shortly after his rebirth and return to Middle-Earth. Desiring to see the change of the lands since his last life upon it, Glorfindel joined with Gandalf, who, despite having come to the far shore only a few years ahead of the elven warrior, knew most of the distant places of the west and the south from his frequent journeys from one region to another. In this way Glorfindel made his studies of the new lands and those people that inhabited them.

Gandalf, for his part, tolerated Glorfindel's presence fairly well, even going so far as to enjoy his constant company. It was, he admitted, heartening to observe the reborn warrior's renewed and enthusiastic respect for life, even menial chores were carried out by him cheerfully. Glorfindel's personal philosophy seemed to be that every day that dawned was brighter and more beautiful than the last and, therefore, too fine to waste on a frown whether there was rain or sun, comfort or harsh conditions. His optimism was, under most circumstances, satisfying and ultimately refreshing. And it was some long time after making one another's acquaintance and traveling together that they finally came to a parting of ways. Glorfindel felt his learning sufficient and that it was high time he make his way to the one elvish realm that he had yet to see - Imladris, home of the Lord Elrond Perhedel descended of his own first lord, Turgon.

Imladris had always been in his mind as the place of his final destination. Along his way he had heard mostly good things about the realm and its ruler from those who knew of them, save the half-hearted ill grumblings of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, and it already felt like home in his mind and heart. It was at least, he thought, as good a place as any he had already seen to settle and offer his services.

So it was that after following Gandalf back west through Lothlorien, belonging to a cousin of his, Galadriel, and her husband, down through the underground dwarf city of Moria, and then swinging north up past the remnants of Eregion before turning west again that the two prepared to part upon reaching the very banks of the Bruinen river. Gandalf planned to go still farther west by the East-West road all the way to Mithlond, where he said Cirdan the shipwright waited to entrust to him an artifact of some importance, and Glorfindel, being bound to Imladris, was set to follow the northeastern curve of the Bruinen until it ran up almost upon the very doorstep of the house of Elrond as Gandalf promised it would. It was a mere day before they parted that Glorfindel was introduced to Pallando.

Upon meeting the blue wizard in the wilds, Gandalf had been shocked, and later remarked to Glorfindel that he had thought his fellow still on business in the east. After the initial greeting of surprise, Glorfindel had watched him become apprehensive and then suspicious in turn. It was fairly obvious, however subtle the grey wizard's behavior, that Gandalf did not have a great deal of fondness or even respect for his fellow in magic, though Glorfindel did not think enough of it at the time to make inquiries into the reason behind his ill sentiments and misgivings; how he later wished that he had stopped to think of asking it.

Glorfindel, though he was a good sort, always trying to give people the benefit of the doubt and not make rash, harsh or unwarranted judgments, could also not help but feel mistrustful of the blue wizard. It was something about his eyes, Glorfindel decided, sly and sharp as they were, and always shifting about. But they did not stop to speak to him for very long, just long enough to discover that east to Mirkwood was his destination; Pallando learned then enough of Glorfindel's plan to Imladris and his unfamiliarity with the most of Middle-Earth to begin to form his own plan. Glorfindel was relieved when he left their company, as Gandalf was also.

Three days later, when he once again encountered Pallando on the banks of the Bruinen river fishing for his supper as easy as you please, Glorfindel knew there was something wrong. He liked this encounter even less than the first, the feeling was all wrong. Such a thing might be called a coincidence, but it was far from likely. Pallando had, in all appearances, continued his course east to Mirkwood upon bidding both Gandalf and Glorfindel goodbye and safe travels, but had obviously curved back around to meet the river again with the express purpose of arriving where he did before Glorfindel and there waylaying the elf. So it was with trepidation and a thought to his sword that Glorfindel approached him.

"Well met, Pallando," he hailed him, rather nervously. He had to go forward and speak, for he knew that the wizard had seen him.

"Why, hello again, friend Glorfindel. Without Gandalf this time, I see," Pallando returned his hail in a greasy manner that affected surprise at a happy coincidence. Glorfindel felt sure that, truly, the wizard was not at all surprised to see him, and without Gandalf.

He shifted uneasily as Pallando set aside his fishing pole, picking up what appeared to be an innocent walking stick at his side - that Glorfindel knew to be his wizard's staff - and raised himself to his feet with it. A slow smile spread over his face, much as the smile one would find upon the face of a large cat as it considers its cornered mouse prey.

"I thought you bound for Mirkwood," he said finally, for lack of conversation, and with his fingers itching to get at his sword at Pallando's approach. "What do you here?"

Pallando moved his shoulders in a careless shrug. "There's been a change of plans, you see, my boy," he answered, his self-satisfied grin widening. "It seems that my business now lies in Imladries instead."

Glorfindel did not at all like the thought of the wizard in Imladris, and he hoped that Elrond, if he were truly wise and any good judge of character, might refuse to admit him. "How fortunate for you," was his rather stiff reply.

"But you see, there's been a change of plans for you as well," Pallando continued slyly. "You are no longer required in Imladris, but out in the wilds might be a more fitting place for a mutt such as yourself."

Before Glorfindel could make any response to this outrageous dismissal, the wizard gave a casual wave of the long staff which he carried and Glorfindel began to feel very odd indeed. There was a dizzy and sick feeling as the world began to twist, and things and faces melted and blurred together. He felt almost loose inside of his own body, like he was no longer attached.

He was shrinking and the world around him was growing steadily dimmer. While there wasn't as much light as there had been, even with the sun still high in the sky, everything had gotten much louder, even more than his sensitive elven hearing was accustomed to, and it seemed that he could hear all manner of life for miles around, and his scent became keener as well. And his perspective had shifted. He was now looking up at a smirking Pallando. He tried to shout at the wizard - to ask him just what he thought he was doing - but all that came out of his mouth, which now felt strangely elongated, were harsh guttural sounds.

And suddenly, as he had felt a drastic change in his own body, he watched as Pallando underwent something similar. To his confusion and ever mounting horror, it became now his own face that Glorfindel was looking up at. The same light traveling garments, the same brilliant golden hair, and deep blue eyes. And his mouth formed the words, and Glorfindel heard them all too well, "But don't worry, Elrond will never miss the services of Lord Glorfindel, I'll make sure of that."

"Now goodbye, friend of Gandalf, and best of luck - you will certainly need it," the wizard said finally, using, of course, Glorfindel's own voice. "I shall promise to take good care of Imladris."

It was the last thing that Glorfindel heard before another wave of the accursed staff sent him into a dizzying darkness. Once more he raised his voice in anger, but all his ears could hear was a dog's frantic bark from somewhere far away, and then, nothing at all.

TBC...

Notes:

1). On the subject of the blue wizards, the two missing Istar, there is not much information. Alatar and Pallando were, I believe, the first names given to them by the great professor. They were mentioned in other texts as Morinehtar and Romestamo. Darkness-slayer and East-helper.

_"...But there were others, two dressed in sea-blue...of the Blue little was known in the west [of Middle-earth], and they had no names save Ithryn Luin 'the Blue Wizards'; for they traveled to the east with Curunír, but they never returned; and whether they remain in the East, pursuing there the purposes for which they were sent; or perished; or as some hold were ensnared by Sauron and became his servants it is not now known. But none of these chances were impossible to be."_

As stated by the _Unfinished Tales_. Yes, it does mention that they were not known in the west where I am placing them, but I'm taking liberties like all fan fiction authors. After all, whose to say that they didn't have at least a few exploits in the west that no one was willing to speak of? Perhaps Glorfindel kept the information hush-hush to save his dignity. ;)

GAMercy: And thus ends the first installment.

Glorfindel: Woefully short. You can never get Mercy's chapters to be anything but.

GAMercy: You'll learn more soon enough.

Glorfindel: One would hope so.

GAMercy: There is an end in sight for this story, at least. Not one that will come in less than four chapters, I think, but still, I have a plan!

Glorfindel: Plans are such novel things. Most advantageous.

GAMercy: Stop mocking me!

Glorfindel: Review please. Stop and take the time to tell us how you like what you've seen. We really do work hard.

GAMercy: Critiques and constructive criticism always welcome. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Story Title: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

Story Author: GAMercy

Story Overview: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

Rating: I'm leaving this story at R, just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

Warnings: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

Summary: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

Author's Note: All mistakes are most definitely mine, as I've no beta reader, and it was the best I could come up with after what seems like constant revision. I can only catch so many of my own mistakes, however.

When Glorfindel came to once again he was exhausted, bruised, stiff, and aching all over. He cracked one eye open slowly, hoping that all of his fuzzy and disjointed memories that lurked on the surface of his mind were only reminders of a terribly disorienting dream. And so he listened intently for a moment for the sound of the rushing waters of the Bruinen, but all he could hear was a far off trickle which certainly couldn't be the Bruinen, and also, more predominantly, the low, plaintive whine of a creature in pain, which seemed to thrum through his body. Then he fully opened his eyes to be assailed by a brightness that hurt his head as if he had taken a bit too much drink, and realized that he lay crumpled on a forest floor of rocks, dirt and moss all covered by a thick layer of rotting leaves without a bedroll of any sort, and a hairy golden paw was stretched out before him. A paw! Then he knew that the creature he had heard had been himself.

It had been no dream. For whatever reason, that foxy blue wizard Pallando had truly turned him into a dog! A filthy, flea-ridden mutt. Now he was going to join Elrond's house by posing as Glorfindel himself. And who would question him? Not Elrond, the half-elf had never met him, only, perhaps, heard tell of his rebirth, and if a warrior with the fair complexion of the Vanya and long golden hair were to come to him and claim to be that elf Glorfindel, he would believe the claim, for what reason would he have to lie? Gandalf, perhaps, would recognize the deception, but he was many days journey at least, depending on where it was that Pallando had sent Glorfindel with his last spell.

Why, why, why? was all Glorfindel could ask himself. What purpose did it serve for Pallando to be in Imladris? Gandalf had trusted him little, Glorfindel thought, so it was clearly mischief. Hopefully mischief that could easily be sorted out and undone, but Glorfindel's main concern was that the sneaky wizard was doing it with his body and tarnishing his name and reputation! If things went too far - Elrond would never trust him when he came Imladris.

If he could even make the Lord of Imladris realize what had occurred, he thought with a sickening jolt to his stomach. He certainly couldn't communicate as a dog, the half-elf would gain no understanding of anything from the barks and growls of a stray mongrel. He should find Gandalf and hope he understood his situation, but that might take him weeks of traveling, without knowing in which direction he was going. Or, he could go to Imladris and try to keep Pallando from being able to get into too much trouble with his body until someone discovered what was going on. Neither choice seemed very hopeful, the way Glorfindel looked at it.

What action should he take in his current situation? Find Gandalf? Or head to Imladris? Imladris and Elrond won out in the end. At least there was a true path to Imladris and it never changed location, unlike Gandalf. He had to hope that the wizard would come to Imladris soon after leaving the havens, whatever his plans were. But he needed to be able to keep a watchful eye on the new "Lord Glorfindel".

Now he simply needed to get out of the woods into which he had been dumped and find some sort of civilization, so that he might get his bearings and discover exactly how bad his situation was. Then he would brave haste to Imladris. Probably easier said than done. Of course Pallando had probably deposited him miles from civilization. And the very bones of his new dog body seemed to ache as though they had been recently over exerted, and it would be slow going whatever direction he chose, he thought glumly. But even as he was beginning to mourn his pitiful fate - surely the Valar had not intended to send him back to live as a dog for the rest of his life? - he lifted and cocked his head, for he heard in the far distance a strange noise unlike any forest creature he had ever heard.

Perhaps it was a forest dweller, he thought quickly, excited at this possible change of luck. It sounded like a voice raised in song! Snatches of funny little verses drifted lazily to him on the thick forest air, and he heard spoken in the common tongue:

_Old Tom Bombadill, he's a wary fellow_

bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.

None have ever caught old Tom in upland or dingle,

walking on the forest paths, or by the Withywindle.

Glorfindel heaved his unfamiliar body to its feet, determined to follow the voice despite the pain he was in. There was an awkward moment where he could not find his balance. Having four legs was quite a trick, he decided, stumbling about for a bit before he found a loping stride which he imagined looked rather lopsided. The edition of a tail made it even more awkward, but he managed. He was moving forward persistently, doggedly, he thought mirthlessly at his pun.

His legs still felt like leaden weights heavy with a lethargy that seemed to come from the very air of the forest, but still he went forward. When he came to a small river, he threw himself into it without thought, not even pausing to shake the water from his hide when he emerged. He followed the voice as fast as his dog feet would carry him, listening as it grew sometimes nearer, and sometimes farther off. He heard many a merry dol and a derry dol and talks of river women and other peculiarities before he realized, with some relief, that though it faded curiously in an out and changed direction often, whoever it was singing seemed to be moving toward him even as he was moving toward whoever it was singing.

It was breaking through a dense patch of trees into a small, brightly sunlit glen that Glorfindel caught his first glimpse of the singer. He looked, Glorfindel thought, as much an oddity as his songs, dressing just as he had proclaimed with his strange verse - in blue with oversized yellow boots that seemed to swallow up his short legs as the beard he wore swallowed up most of his face; bright and lively eyes managed to peer intently out, however. His head was covered by a tall feathered cap.

Glorfindel barked, actually barked - a sound that welled up deep inside of his chest and then found release without thought - to gain his attention. And the strange being, Glorfindel could not tell whether he were a small man, a tall dwarf, or the strangest hobbit he had ever laid eyes on, blinked at him in surprise.

"Well, ho, the dog!" he cried, as if he had been expecting Glorfindel to happen along sooner or later. His eyes crinkled in a smile so deep that Glorfindel thought they would completely disappeared in the folds that it made around them.

"You do indeed look like you've been through a spot of trouble, fine sir. Best come along with Tom, his home will see you better."

Glorfindel would have blinked, but the man turned around so abruptly and began a hurried pace in the opposite direction so quickly that if Glorfindel were to follow him and had paused, he might have been lost from sight. As Tom, as he apparently called himself, danced in and out of trees singing once more, Glorfindel could only pad along as fast as he might in order to reach the same destination.

_Hey! Come derry dol! Trot along, good doggie!_

Why, my pretty lady wouldn't have a guest stay soggy.

To good food, warm bath! Now we hurry home!

They had walked long and night was already falling when they came upon the sight of a small, quaint little house, with a neatly thatched roof and path that led right up to the door. As they approached, the door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and golden light spilled out to welcome them in. Glorfindel stumbled through to the interior, and stood numbly, dripping water onto the floor and hardly seeing what it was he was looking at.

"Pour lost soul," he dimly heard a compassionate voice say, a sweet, lilting voice like that of the wind sweeping through sunny meadow grasses. And then he saw a lady with hair as golden as the dawn come forth, and she was lovely enough to be an elven maid, though she was clearly not. She was clad in a green raiment that glittered with scattered beads of silver like dew upon the grass with a chain belt of flowers draped around her slender waist. "I am called Goldberry, gentle traveler," she told him, " and you are welcome in the home of Tom Bombadill. Have no fear whilst you are with us, you will find no evil mischief at work here."

She reached out to stroke his head with delicate fingertips, and it was in that moment at her touch that Glorfindel felt all of the tension and fatigue drain from his body as though bled from his weary soul, and he was filled instead, near to bursting, with a warm glow that pulsed through the house and was relieved. "I've drawn you a bath that should warm you and chase the chill of autumn from your bones," she said, and as she lead him away he heard Tom still humming and mumbling nonsensical verse to himself from outside of the house.

He was taken through the house to a room with a large low tub filled with steamy water, and though Glorfindel's new dog body seemed to balk at the thought of willfully immersing himself in it, he forced it with his dominant elven mind to somehow clamber in. He could not remember afterwards how long he stayed soaking in the blissful heat of the water, setting aside for the moment all thoughts of wizards, spells and elven valleys. He left only when it had cooled. The lady Goldberry brought towels for him to dry on, which she lay on the floor before a bright, merry blaze which was burning in the hearth and he dried slowly.

They brought to him also a simple but excellent dinner which was put on a platter at his level. Glorfindel ate it with much enthusiasm, thinking it must have been a millennia since he had last eaten, such was his hunger. There was good meat, plain bread and crystal cold drinking water and no such simple fare had ever before tasted so good to him as they did then. He found, once he had finished, that Tom had joined him and was seated comfortably in an easy chair by the fire.

"Strange doings it was that brought you into the Old Forest, Glorfindel of Gondolin," he said calmly, and Glorfindel was somehow unsurprised that he already knew his name, even when he could not possibly have given it. "And it is good that you have found the house of Tom Bombadill."

The Old Forest, Glorfindel thought, recognizing the name as one Gandalf had told him of, the name of a large area of wood that bordered the Shire that the grey wizard seemed so fond of. Pallando really had put him a long way from Imladris, as had been his intention.

"Thankfully getting back to where you want to be won't be a problem for you," Tom continued and Glorfindel thought that surely it must be pure coincidence that the man's words followed his own internal musings, as though the two were having a normal conversation. "Because old Tom is the master here, and he knows every glade and path, every tree and creature, every leaf and blade of grass in this whole forest."

Does the forest belong to him? Glorfindel wondered curiously. Is he the forester and owner of all this land? It seemed quite a job to Glorfindel. From what he had heard, the forest was wild and dangerous, as was everything to be found in it - save perhaps for the house of Tom Bombadill itself. Even the trees were rebellious and could do a traveler harm if they'd a mind to it.

"I have always belonged to the land, and I choose my own borders," Tom told him, as if in answer to a question he had asked. "One of your kind, the firstborn children of the creator, would call me Iarwain Ben-adar, for I have been here the longest of any."

Glorfindel cocked his head thoughtfully in surprise, not realizing what a comical picture he might make when he did so. He remembered having heard the name of Iarwain many years prior to their encounter, but he had forgotten him as most people did. Now, however, he listened most attentively, like a star pupil to his master teacher, as Tom leaned back in his chair and began to speak. He spoke on a great variety of things, mostly of his forest as it was - trees that whispered and spoke to one another, paths made by creators as ancient as himself, of willows and badgers and women who lived in the river Glorfindel heard that night. Though he wanted to hear it all and struggled to remain awake, Tom seemed to be weaving a spell over him with the lull of his voice and poetry of his words, the warmth of the fire, a full belly and the glow of the house.

He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off on a boat upon lazy waters that carried him here and there along the way, flowing steadily and softly. He floated in a strange waking dream of tranquility and occasionally still cracked open an eye to see Tom sitting and talking on and on of anything and everything. The last time he opened his eyes he had no way of knowing what time it was, but Tom had fallen silent and was staring ahead into the licking flames of the fire. When he saw Glorfindel watching him he nodded and smiled slowly, as someone with a sudden happy epiphany.

"Come, friend," he said, "now's the time for sleeping long. Tomorrow Tom will lead you on safe paths through the wood, to the long road that runs by the settlement of the Bree men. That road will carry you safely all the way to the realm of the elves that you seek, as the river would have."

He rose then from his chair and beckoned to Glorfindel, who followed him gratefully to the same room where he had bathed in the tub. The water was gone, taken away now, and it had been replaced with piles of soft, comfortable furs into which Glorfindel eagerly buried himself. He slept then the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, blissfully undisturbed, and woke only with the dawning of the new day.

TBC...

Notes:

1). Yes, realistically Glorfindel probably never went near the Old Forest or Tom Bombadill and Goldberry, but realistically he's never been a dog either. :P

2). The first verse of Bombadill's singing was adapted from a verse in JRR Tolkien's _The Adventures of Tom Bombadill_, which went:

Old Tom Bombadill, he was a wary fellow

bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.

None ever caught old Tom in upland or dingle,

walking on the forest paths, or by the Withywindle.

But of course that I had Tom himself singing the verse, not being told about, so I had to change the past tense in the poem. The second verse, I sadly admit, was my own, after having studied Tom's speech and song patterns in LotR. A sad attempt, I know, but it was the best I could do.

3). All description of Tom Bombadill and Goldberry came from LotR, Chapter 7, In the House of Tom Bombadill, and they remain close to Tolkien's own without having been copied word for word. Glorfindel's stay at the house also parallels the hobbits', as I felt that the house and the actions of the hosts would have very much the same affect on anyone and everyone who stayed in it.

4). I believe I've heard that dogs can't exactly see in color (someone feel free to correct me if you know more about it than I do) enough for Glorfindel as a dog to know that Tom had a blue shirt or Goldberry a green gown, but the descriptions sounded better that way...

GAMercy: And a second chapter done.

Glorfindel: In an almost timely fashion, for you at any rate.

GAMercy: Thank you, Glorfindel, you're so sweet.

Glorfindel: You're welcome, of course, Mercy.

GAMercy: Has it never occurred to you that I might be being sarcastic?

Glorfindel: Has it ever occurred to you that your readers might not be the only one who are interested in seeing me quickly restored to my true body?

GAMercy: Hey, don't test me, or I might consider getting myself a doggy Glorfindel muse. I bet they don't talk back.

Glorfindel: Just you try and see what happens.


	3. Chapter 3

****

Story Title: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

****

Story Author: GAMercy

****

Story Overview: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

****

Rating: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

****

Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

****

Warnings: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

****

Summary: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

****

Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

****

Author's Note: Apologies for the excessive delay in updating, for anyone who is actually following this story; it was my intention to post this chapter come labor day weekend, but in the words of a very famous wizard, I was delayed, due to work and family matters, though it would certainly sound more impressive if I could say that I was imprisoned in the tower of Orthanc.

As Glorfindel grappled with his newly gained troubles, and inadvertently found his way into the house of Tom Bombadill through an incredible stroke of luck, finding little hope that, even with much work, he would soon be back in his own body, the wizard Alatar the blue was making haste to track down another fellow wizard.

Alatar had previously resided in the east, Rhun as the elves knew it, and called the orient by its own people. He had gone forth with two of his fellow wizards, Curunir and Pallando, but the former had soon developed a deep loathing for the land and had journeyed back to the western lands to take up residence, as Alatar had heard tell, in an old fortress tower of men that he renamed Orthanc. Alatar himself had been deeply surprised that Curunir had not enjoyed the wonders of the east. There were scholars and learned men in the arts of math and science with whom the blue wizard would have thought Curunir could identify, being, himself, so intelligent. When once he voiced this thought aloud, the elven soul, Tithennon, who followed him ever had casually replied that perhaps it was harder to be respected and to gain admiration and an elevated position in the world when a person was only one wise man among many. Alatar had thought hard on that, but hadn't made much sense of the comment, and he had soon given up attempting to puzzle out the elf's response - for Tithennon rarely elaborated or explained his often cryptic comments; Alatar thought it highly likely that the elf enjoyed being ambiguous and often did so purposefully. The east had always held great fascination for Alatar, however, even if it hadn't for Curunir, greater than the west ever had.

There were only men in the east, no elves or dwarves or halfling creatures to be seen, and they were called the Easterlings. Their civilizations, though greatly varied from clan to clan and region to region, were beautiful, and while several of the sects had fallen prey to the power of the Dark Lord and were under his dominion there were still many good people to be found there who yet resisted. Some spoke openly of their alliances with the Dark Lord - these areas were, of course, generally unpleasant and avoided by Alatar - while others were staunchly defiant of him, or tight-lipped over where their loyalties lay. Strictly speaking, the wise never mentioned outright with whom they were sided, those who wished no trouble or those who waited for better offers to sweeten the pot, but held their peace, for neighboring clans had a habit of making war upon each other if their interests were conflicting; better to let your enemy believe you his ally than to speak against him. The east was not a unified nation, with one king over all, but each section of it claimed their own leader.

The Easterlings were a culture that had accomplished many tremendous achievements, being collectors of knowledge and writers of poetry in a writing system of their own unique device; they built structures of exceptional wonder and strove for perfection in everything that they did, turning all things to which they put their hand into a form of art. There were temples erected and dedicated to the gods and spirits that guided the people where religious chants rang through the air at specified times of day sacred to those gods, and some of those tenders of the holy places took life-long vows of silence which the loquacious Tithennon would have been hard pressed to keep for a day, let alone for life in a temple of solemnity.

Alatar had been amazed, left speechless, the first time that he had ever seen an open-aired city market in the east, where for miles on crowded city streets vendors set up wood stalls and booths covered with material designed to keep off the heat of the mid-day sun and sold their wares by shouting over one another to the market browsers to buy their merchandize. There one could find, well, just about anything. There were men who sold geese, goats, carpets and rugs, inks and expensive dyes, specially made fabrics as light as a feather and like water to the touch, ceramic pots and gilded jewelry and decorations for fine ladies. There were also entertainers, who abounded at the markets, dancers in exotic garb, fire eaters and flutists who charmed desert snakes with their pipe music, jugglers, acrobats, storytellers and other performers. Stalls of strong drink were available, which you could buy by the cupful or the barrelful. And there were desert beasts of burden in a few places which some Easterlings rode in places of horses, and they could, it was said, survive for days unaccounted under a scorching desert sun without a single drop of water. Yes, Alatar thought, the east was a marvel, what a pity Curunir had so quickly dismissed its virtues.

Alatar, afterwards, had always been free to come and go as he chose, bound by no rules save the stipulation that he not attempt to take dominion over any race of that Middle-Earth that he was honor and duty bound to protect, which he could hardly have managed had he even tried. And to that one rule he held and traveled as he desired all over the east, memorizing its cities and people even as Gandalf the grey knew the west. At first, in many places the people had been wary of him and sometimes, often when Pallando had been through an area ahead of him, terrified to see Alatar come in the sea-blue robes which marked him as a wizard or his order. Magician, they called him, and soothsayer, though he knew no more of the future than they themselves did and nor would he have wanted to - the future, he had always thought to himself, was best left to itself. They soon discovered that he was not exactly as altogether powerful as they had originally imagined him to be and rather incompetent in his art to boot, but no one seemed to mind or be too terribly disappointed; village children still adored his visits and found him to be an extraordinarily interesting diversion.

Pallando the blue had never journeyed back west either as Curunir had done - Alatar was not altogether certain that this was because he loved the east, merely that he fount convenience in it for the time - but he and Alatar quickly parted company without much sorrow at their sundering. The two blue wizards had never particularly liked each other, perhaps owing to the fact that they were the only two of their order without much say in whatever councils were taken, as they were the lowest level, and neither was a complete representative of his power, having to share the form of that power with the other. Curunir had certainly seemed to tire of their ceaseless bickering before traveling in their company for very long, and when the white wizard went his separate ways no force on the earth could have kept Alatar and Pallando from parting as well. Each had repulsed the other.

Alatar disliked Pallando for his cruelty. His fellow blue wizard was wily, sly and slimy, cheating others as often as he could get away with. His trickery knew no bound or limit, and he was ever concerned with the matter of furthering his rank and gaining greater power over things; Pallando was not a wise person to trust with power. The other wizard liked him the less because he could only see Alatar as a simpleton, too easy to please, little concerned over the advancement of his own position, blundering, pathetic, spineless and ever subservient to the will of those whom would call themselves his superiors. Alatar privately admitted that he was, perhaps, all of those things, but it was far from his place, he thought, to question his purpose in the world.

So great was their dislike for one another that each strove often to foil the devices of the other. Alatar would put up the illusion of a footbridge over a small stream, just to get a laugh out of whoever attempted to cross it and inadvertently took a swim, and Pallando would see to it that the day turned cold and damp so that the person who was soaked contracted some minor illness designed to keep him miserable and bedridden. Pallando would set an unpleasant, hidden pitfall in the path of an innocent passerby and Alatar would secretly make the ground solid once more just as they were walking over it. It was ever this way with the two, and so it was that many were the unfortunate people whom got caught in the midst of a sort of war between the blue wizards.

Though also free to come and go as he pleased in the lands of Middle-Earth, Alatar had never left the orient, all of which he thought of fondly and looked over with careful concern as an old uncle might watch a favored nephew with inexplicable pride, but never before had Pallando either. The second blue wizard of the order seemed to have no preference over where he performed his malicious tricks, just so long as he could. The day that he first heard tell that Pallando had ventured westward once more, apparently on no particular errand, he was mildly concerned. So was Tithennon, but perhaps more so even than himself.

"Run out of people ignorant of his nasty ways, he has," Tithennon had said. "Gone off to find fresh victims, mark my words. You had best follow along after him, and quickly, Alatar, to see that he doesn't get into too much trouble; or, rather, _make_ too much trouble."

Alatar had made a very reluctant show then, unenthusiastic over the idea of leaving the lands where he felt that he belonged for ones second best to his own. "Oh, well, but the West - I don't think," he muttered dispassionately. "Er, that is, there's Olorin and Curunir to consider. They are the power there, after all, and surely they can handle Pallando themselves -"

"They would not find him out as soon, nor do they know his ways as well as you do," Tithennon had admonished, glowing at him irritably as was his way - Alatar had always been privately amazed at how very expressive Tithennon managed to be with his emotions when he was lacking a body with which to be expressive - being frustrated with the wizard's lack of foresight. "Just stop to imagine, if you will, the sheer magnitude of mess he could make given too much time of free rein, and it would not take him long at all, you know that. Off with you Alatar! Bring him back to lands where people can at least handle him, the east will still be here when you return."

With much grumbling and agonizing self-pity Alatar had conceded that the elven spirit was right. He was still upset that it had to be him to deal with Pallando, however, but he had allowed himself to be convinced of it. Even if he hadn't have conceded imediately, Tithennon would have gotten him to go anyway, he knew the routine.

The small glowing ball of Tithennon's spirit would have grown gravely silent until Alatar grew terribly uncomfortable with imagining the baleful elven glare he might have been receiving from the elf had he been embodied with eyes to glare. Then, as he squirmed in his discomfort, Tithennon would solemnly remind him of his own horrible blunder in dragging the elf un-embodied from Mandos, how Tithennon had been forced into dependency on the wizard when he should have been free in the blessed realm, and how Alatar owed him, at least, this one small thing. He always said that! And it always worked too, Alatar noted grumpily. Alatar would always relent in the end, just to please Tithennon, and in this way if Tithennon wanted something done, it was done. But, to be fair, he really only used it under highly important circumstances, the wizard allowed.

So the wizard and the spirit gathered themselves up for a journey and made after Pallando as fast as they might. The road had been long for them, and a good deal slower than it had been for Pallando, owing to the fact that Alatar knew not the roads of the western lands as he knew those of the eastern ones. There was also the terrible cold to contend with; Alatar had forgotten the extreme temperature difference of the regions - not that he ever wore anything other than his blue robes - and, being so accustomed to the heat of the east, was made quite miserable in the damp, rainy atmosphere of the west. Luckily they at least had very little difficulty in marking Pallando's trail; a cranky, malicious old man dressed in sea blue was not quickly put from the minds of the natives when there were other travelers inquiring into his whereabouts.

He appeared for some time to have no particular destination or purpose in his mind, but rather looked to be learning the ways of the region out of simple curiousity, no doubt to discover exactly what kind of mischief he could get away with there. After a time, however, about in the very heart of the west at a curious place known to the locals as Lake Town, Pallando seemed to have formulated an actual plan for the mischief he was desiring to make, or else he grew bored of his learnings and, doubling back on his previous trail, nearly ran directly into Alatar and Tithennon; it was only through luck and good fortune that Pallando remained oblivious of them. They had only just found him, appearing terribly pleased with himself, and had been reluctant to give themselves away at that time and had instead watched silently from a thick of trees while the wizard whose activities they were tracking met through complete coincidence with Gandalf the grey and a companion of his, Glorfindel.

Tithennon had lit up with excitement at seeing one of his kind, whom had also died and whose spirit resided for some time in Mandos and was now sent back, for there were no elves to be found among the men of the east and having been bereft of their company for some time with none but Alatar for conversation, there was hardly any wonder at his being excited. He went two shades of white brighter and Alatar had to hiss at him to dim himself again lest he give them away. Tithennon had dimmed immediately to a deep gray colour, only occasionally flickering soft white in embarrassment.

Pallando left the wizard Gandalf and friend and traveled quietly on his way, so casually that Alatar and Tithennon were almost fooled into believing that he actually was not plotting anything at all. Until Glorfindel appeared on the scene once more.

"Oh no, oh dear," Tithennon whispered in his agitation, flickering through his many colors rapidly in his evident distress. "What is that miserable wizard up to? He had better let Glorfindel alone!"

Hidden behind some thickly overgrown blackberry bushes growing as close to the river shore and the confrontation of the two individuals as they could get, Tithennon and Alatar waited, watched and worried. They strained their hearing and held their breaths, hoping for the best. There they saw everything that happened.

Pallando left them little time to interfere, even had their reaction been swift. Almost as soon as the tricky wizard had turned the noble Glorfindel into a long-haired golden dog and had himself taken the elf's previous form, the real Glorfindel was made to vanish - helped far from his destination, no doubt, by Pallando's magic. Tithennon gave a small stifled cry of dismay, which Alatar only hoped Pallando hadn't heard; they might be able to do more good undiscovered and without Pallando's knowledge of their muddling in his affairs, confronting the wizard himself in that moment would have yielded no answers. But the wizard walked off smirking, leading Glorfindel's horse and carrying his weapons, not appearing to have noticed the witnesses of his deed.

"He's gone, he's gone!" Tithennon exclaimed, "Where would that odious wizard send him?"

Alatar blinked and shook his head slowly, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "With Pallando, there's no way of knowing," he muttered. "No way of knowing. Not that, at any rate. But we do know that he must have further plans, besides just making dogs of elven warriors, or he wouldn't be itching to take this Glorfindel's place."

"What now, then?" Tithennon asked. "What shall we do to fix it? We don't know where poor Glorfindel will find himself."

"We might not be able to fix it, but we will certainly find someone who can. We will find Gandalf," Alator informed him decidedly, showing a surprising amount of good sense and intelligence in the matter, which Tithennon usually thought of as being his own particular forte. "He'll fix Pallando directly."

Tithennon worked himself out of his panicked tizzy at that statement, and even turned pale yellow in amusement and laughed at the thought of the grey wizard's ire when he was forced to deal with Pallando's troublesome mess. "He might not even bother anyone again," he commented cheerfully.

"Let us hope not," Alatar agreed.

Meanwhile, as Glorfindel was waking from a pleasant sleep in the house of Tom Bombadill, and Alatar the blue along with Tithennor set off to hunt Gandalf through the wilds all the way to Mithlond - which they knew to be his final destination - if they had to, there was created quite a stir in Imladris as a lone horse and rider thundered into the courtyard of the House of Elrond, frightening several birds, which took flight in a flurry of indignant squawks and feathers, from their comfortable roosts . The rider of the horse, an elf of tender years whom, despite being obviously well past his fifty year majority, was perhaps not yet past his first century, pulled up short at the steps of the central building with a sharp tug to the reins, so suddenly that the startled animal reared in its surprise. The two of them, between themselves, managed to make quite a deal of noise, and as the rider hurriedly dismounted he called out in a loud voice, "Father. Father!"

This brought many people, not only his father, running.

Lord Elrond, his Chief Councilor, his wife with their four month old daughter and her aide Lindir were only a few of those who came swiftly at his cry, not to mention an elf who was an exact copy of the rider himself, his twin brother. "Elladan!" they seemed to cry as one in their alarm, "what is the trouble?"

"Are you not harmed?" his mother demanded, who, having reached him first, was checking him over for any grievous wounds while clucking her tongue in admonishment. Elladan batted her hands away irritably in his haste to say what he would to his father.

"No, Mother," he answered hastily, never taking his eyes from Elrond, who was frowning sternly at the young man. Elrond's eyes warned him to get on with it. "Father, there is an elf come to the borders, who crossed the ford of the Bruinen just this morning and he has said that he has come to ask admittance to your house."

"Elladan, there are many people who come every year to ask admittance into my house," Elrond replied, stunned that his son made such a deal of this. "And they are always conducted in a decorous fashion, not heralded with a messenger who rides as if he bears the words of doom!"

Elladan blushed at the reprimand. "Father, what I meant to say was he asks to enter into your household in service. He gave his name as Glorfindel."

"The First Age slayer of the balrog?" his twin chimed in in amazement.

"I did not ask," Elladan replied delicately, unwilling as yet to make rash assumptions, but suspicious of the same himself. "But he is fair of complexion with flaxen hair, a warrior's build and manner, and carries the implements of war with him. His steed is a stallion as white as snow and as fine as any I have ever before seen, surely well over seventeen hands high; an impressive animal to carry such an imposing rider. I thought that you would like to know of this Glorfindel before he rode in, Father."

Elrond nodded in surprise, having listened carefully to his son's speech. "This must indeed be a reborn Glorfindel come to join Imladris; I had heard rumors that one of that name journeyed far with the wizard Mithrandir. Have rooms prepared for a new guest, Celebrian, and Elladan, return to the borders at once to conduct him back with proper decorum, as befits one of his station. It is flattering indeed that he has chosen to join our household when his connections are so many across Middle-Earth, being also a cousin of your grandmother, the Lady Galadriel, and there will be a party to meet him when he arrives. Today we will welcome him joyously into our home."

****

Notes:

1). I've again taken liberties in designing Tolkien's Middle-Earth to fit my story. I have no idea if the professor's conception of the eastern lands of Rhun and my own are at all similar, but this is how it will now stand for the sake of my story.

2). I know almost nothing about horses, aside from the fact that they are measured in a unit, hh, which stands for hands high with each hand being equivalent to about four inches. Seventeen hands high sounded impressive enough for Asfaloth, and hopefully I am not being overly imaginative in setting him at that height.

****

Thanks to...

1). Reona: I appreciate the feedback, and again, I've no idea what colors dogs might see, only having seen one article deliberating the issue long ago in my extreme youth and being not much interested in the topic at the time, but thank you for sharing the information with me and taking the time to review. :)

2). Jaimi: I can assure you that any physical aspect of Glorfindel and Elrond's relationship, other than that bond between a dog and his owner, will come AFTER Glorfindel is no longer a canine, as I myself am made rather queasy at the thought of bestiality... Thank you for your review. :)

GAMercy: Poor Elrond has no idea what he's in for.

Glorfindel: Poor Elrond, indeed, you're the one dictating this story, do not think that we believe for a moment that you feel any real sympathy. You don't, or else you would not be writing it.

GAMercy: Yes, well, I have to do something to amuse myself in my spare time.

Glorfindel: So, of course, you find it amusing to make your favorite characters suffer.

GAMercy: Naturally.

Glorfindel: Poor me as well, come to think of it.

GAMercy: Being my most favorite character to make suffer, you mean?

Glorfindel: I'm not certain whether I should take that as a compliment or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Story Title**: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

**Story Author**: GAMercy

**Story Overview**: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

**Rating**: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

**Pairings**: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

**Warnings**: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred in the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

**Summary**: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

**Disclaimer**: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his works and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

**A/N**: More apologies for getting this chapter in even later than the last. I'm waist deep in school and family issues and having to transfer this story from my downstairs computer to my older and rather incompatible upstairs computer. I would have posted Chapter Four sooner, but I began with typing up Chapter Three on this machine, only to discover, to my dismay, that I had already posted that one.

Glorfindel woke slowly to sunlight streaming through the window of the room he had been given. He simply lay quite still for a while, listening to the things that were going on around him and the rest of the world that was also waking. He could hear, drifting in through the walls of the house from the great outdoors, one of Tom's songs, his voice rich, hearty and jovial as he happily belted out his odd tune; he was not much of a singer, Glorfindel thought, but his enthusiasm had to count for something, he supposed. And, as if in answer to Tom's song, from inside of the house came another voice, an alto – high, sweet and true; the Lady Goldberry. Glorfindel listened appreciatively to the softly lilting melody and wondered to himself if even Luthien the fair had sung so sweetly in her day. As he listened, he also discerned a dull thumping sound that, though faint, he could tell was coming from somewhere close by him and made a most unusual accompaniment to Goldberry's tune.

He twisted his head left and right as far as it would go in an effort to find the source of that sound. It took him several moments to realize that what he was hearing was coming from him – he was wagging his tail! Dogs do wag their tails when they're happy, he remembered, still finding the novelty startling. Glorfindel of Gondolin's voyage of discovery as a dog, he mentally groaned at the thought of how much there would be to get used to now that he was no longer a biped. Hopefully he could find a way to improve his situation very soon.

Though the newly improved hearing was interesting he thought. He had always heard that dogs had keener senses even than elves, but he had never quite believed it. Now he knew that it was true from first hand experience.

The door of the house opened and closed and there came from the foyer the clomp of great large boots on the floor. Tom called out, "Guests had best not be late to rise, lest the only breakfast they desire is the grass of the forest, for Tom is hungry enough for two."

Glorfindel realized that this was intended specifically for his ears – whose abilities Tom must have some knowledge of – himself being the only guest in the house, and he laughed as he rose and stretched his muscles before padding softly through the hall into the kitchen. He became aware then, having been so preoccupied with the difference in sounds of the world around him, that his sense of smell was also much improved with his new body. Despite himself, Glorfindel was almost beginning to get excited at the abilities he now possessed, even if they did mean living as a dog.

Tom, he thought with a casual sniff, smelled of rich earth and fresh, pungent green pine needles, while Goldberry's delicate scent was of water lilies and wild heather bushes. Very fitting smells for them, he decided – though he was not quite sure how a smell could quite describe a person, as his dog brain seemed to be insisting it could, but the best he could figure those aromas seemed suited to their personalities. Then he caught a whiff of breakfast and could not concentrate on anything more than his meal until he had quite taken his fill of the good fare provided him by his hosts. When he and Tom began making ready to go, Goldberry was kind enough to take some of the meat, bread, and some ripe yellow cheese and tie it up in a plain linen square that she gave to Glorfindel to carry in his mouth.

She gave him a congenial pat on the head. "There is food for your journey for when you have need of it, good Glorfindel," she told him. "Get you quickly to the Men's village of Bree and then go you by that great road. May the Valar guide you safely to the House of Elrond."

He would have thanked her if he could, as it was, he settled for wagging his tail once again to express his gratitude; he thought she understood him. As they set off on their way, Goldberry stood waving to them and as the sun hit her slender figure, still garbed in green, she had looked like a living flower among the trees, tilting her head up for the touch of its gentle rays; urethral and beautiful. Though he would never again look upon her beauty in the lands of Tom Bombadill, the image of her at that moment was planted firmly in his mind and if ever he thought her name, it was how he would see her for the rest of his long life.

The day was a fine one as Tom Bombadill led him merrily through his forests on paths reliable and true; Glorfindel were told that the trees of the forest could be tricky and change the paths at times, so he was grateful to have the Master himself as his guide. They were followed from the beginning by a plump old pony, who lumbered after them stoically as they set off without wasting a moment's thought on whether his presence was actually desired or not. Tom never even appeared to think of riding the pony, but let him follow them where they went, and Glorfindel and the beast regarded each other suspiciously for a while. Glorfindel got up the nerve to circle the animal curiously, darting back and forth before and beside him, and even going so far as to drop his precious food handkerchief for a moment's time to bark at him in challenge before picking it up once more when that challenge was studiously ignored; afterwards he had wondered why he had done such a thing – why feel threatened by an insignificant beast of burden? – but he had been forced to let the matter go when he could not arrive at an explanation. The pony had only snorted at him and swished his brushy tail.

Tom smiled to himself in amusement at their antics. "That's old Fatty Lumpkin," he told Glorfindel. "Not much ever bothers him and I rarely ride him myself. He mostly comes and goes as he pleases and knows the ups and downs of this forest almost as well as Old Tom does."

Glorfindel was content to leave the pony alone after that. He trotted about here and there sniffing and making his small discoveries about the area and his new body, which he thought must have come with an alternate personality for him that made him do decidedly odd and certainly doggish things; things that he would not have done himself without some sort of prompting. After awhile he went only at Tom's side, and as the day lengthened and the sun rode high overhead, Tom began to speak about the wrights that lived down in the barrows with piles of gold and treasure heaped within their hills with them.

It made a chilling story, and the longer Glorfindel listened, the more aware he became of his surroundings – beginning to notice the aforementioned hills as they descended into small valleys. There was an uneasy mist – dank, dismal and all encompassing – that hung about the air that was highly unnerving. Though they were out of the canopy shade of the trees, the sun seemed to have been banished from the land; in fact, it was so dismally dark that Glorfindel could not tell what time of day it actually was, though he thought that it must have been at least after the noon hour because the sun had still been swinging at its highest point in the sky when they had started their descent. He noted unusual black standing stones as well that made rather foreboding landmarks.

While his skin began to crawl and he began to slink along close to the ground more than simply walk at a fair trot as he had been for fear that something might notice him, Tom seemed completely unaffected by his surroundings – fearless even, if Glorfindel dared to think it. He even began to whistle a jaunty little tune and then to sing again, and to Glorfindel's mind – though it was strange as most things he noticed about Tom – the mist seemed to be lifted and the sun began to show through the sky again; it was as if Tom were banishing the gloom even as the gloom had previously banished the sunlight. Soon Glorfindel himself had completely forgotten about the old wrights that could be lurking about. When they had passed by the barrows and were on high ground once again, with the dipping, foggy barrows to their backs, Tom continued to speak of this and that and Glorfindel was again content with his company and that of Fatty Lumpkin until they came at last to the end of the forest. Tom brought him out at the road, within sight of the walls of the village of Bree.

"There is your road and this is where Tom leaves you now, Lord of an old age. Walk east this way by the road that runs into the distance until you find your valley, and find it you will long before it reaches its end," he directed Glorfindel cheerfully enough. "I won't ever go beyond the borders of my forest, but remember the name of Bombadill in case you should ever be in need if you pass this way again; I will hear you and come. Goodbye now, friend."

And without another word he was off, dancing back into the trees while Fatty Lumpkin turned and lumbered along after him without so much as batting an eyelash at the eccentrics of his master. Glorfindel thought that he might at least have wished him a little luck along the way before taking off, but Tom Bombadill was probably not the sort to believe in chance or luck, he decided; he would not have wasted the time thinking of things so massive over which he had no control. He barked after them for awhile, calling his own goodbyes in the only way that he could, then he was left alone to face the road, and looking at it, steeled his nerve and marched down to it with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstance; he had a definite purpose. Though the miles lay long between him and his destination, he was now started on his way to Imladris.

He could not have realized, as he began his eastward journey along the great road and left the village of Bree far behind him, that at a table in a small local inn, known to the Breelanders as The Prancing Pony and kept by a kindly but forgetful man named Bartholomew Butterbur, sat a wizened old man with bushy eyebrows that stuck out far from the brim of his pointy had who was known as Gandalf the grey to the local inhabitants. Nor could he possibly have guessed that a mere forty miles away from him and traveling with every intention of aiding him in whatever way they could, was a second blue wizard and an un-embodied spirit making there way through the wilds of the South Downs to strake at the Andrath Greenway and thus come after Gandalf. He thought he was on his own.

Elrond Perhedel and his family had been more than joyous at the opportunity to welcome the once warrior of Gondolin, Glorfindel, into their home. The Lord of Imladris had greeted the famed balrog-slayer with the whole of his family and household staff attending him, and he had to admit that the warrior was quite impressive to behold; Pallando might have been a little peeved, however to find that the lord was not at all cowed or humbled in his presence nor thought of him as his better – as he might have if he had been a lesser man unsure in his position. Elrond was certainly polite, though without being differential, and treated Glorfindel as an equal, of all things, in those skills both physical and mental, rather than a superior. He had assigned Glorfindel a luxurious room to make his own for as long as he desired, with the comfort of a personal bath even, and the blond elf had calmly accepted his offer. He also meant to find a place for him in the inner workings of the household, but for the moment, Glorfindel had no specific job and little to do.

The twins were equally impressed with Glorfindel, but more so his illustrious name than anything specific about the warrior's appearance. Celebrian was as cordial to him as she was to any other, and Erestor was indifferent as usual. It was Elladan and Elrohir who hero-worshiped him, along with many of the younger elves of the valley, for the tales of his heroic feats for the first week. Yet after a short while they began to grow less enamored of him and came to their father in joint concern.

"I am not so sure that I actually like him, Father," Elrohir told him perspicuously one afternoon, when Elrond and his sons sat together in his study, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he gave voice to his feelings. "I imagine that I rather elevated his person for that legend attached to his name, but as a person I do not find him to be very – congenial."

"Elrohir means that he doesn't like his attitude," Elladan said with a distinct grimace of distaste. "He's very arrogant and generally not pleasant. Really, I am beginning to wonder why it is that everyone makes such a big deal over him for having died before – it is, afterall, the natural right of the Elda to be reborn after the death of the body. They might think more of him as a warrior for having slain a balrog and yet lived, rather than dying and coming back to tell the tale."

"You must be careful, my sons, how you speak to our guest. Glorfindel is about to become a part of our lives and it would not do to insult him," Elrond warned them sternly with an eye to Elladan, whom he thought likely to instigate the most of any trouble that might occur, though he thought that he could see what it was they were saying.

"His actions upon that mountain were courageously noble and self-sacrificing – giving his life so that others might live – and that is why he is so lauded as a hero, never mind his social graces. Many were the grateful ones who owed their continued existence to him, and our family owes him a debt as well." Elrond thought that Elladan might have muttered an "And I'm certain he plans on collecting," but he could not be certain.

"Yes, we do know that, Father," Elrohir assured him quickly, speaking to pacify and reassure him. "Neither Elladan nor I would say anything to him with the intent to offend or impugn his honor and thus reflect badly upon your house."

"Elrohir is still disappointed, as I am," Elladan said.

Elrohir sighed. "It is simply that, from the great deeds that are attributed to him, I imagined him to be so noble, and now I find that he really seems more devious and shifty. And I do try to think well of him, but it does become harder with every passing day."

"Did you know that he actually kicked Erestor's cat, Advadedin, the other day? The animal actually went away with a limp! I'm sure he didn't know that I was watching, and I know that Advadedin is a miserable old thing and a terrible nuisance, but was that really necessary?" Elladan asked in outrage. That he should take the part of Advadedin was unusual, for Elladan was forever complaining of finding the cat skulking about where he was always in the way, and rarely was the son of Elrond and advocate of the animal – yet it was understandable given the circumstances; Elladan hated more than anything seeing something weak and defenseless fall prey to the bullying and cruelty of others.

"Hardly behavior one expects from a noble warrior," Elrohir echoed his twin's disgust.

Elrond shook his head. "Do not think that we might not yet be mistaken about Glorfindel," he said. "He has been for some time with Mithrandir the wizard, who is an excellent judge of character if ever I have known one and not one to put up with the presence of an individual to whom he does not look kindly. I have also heard many good things about him from those who have met him returned to life; even your grandmother admitted a grudging respect, and if that is not difficult to gain I do not know what is – though you should not mention to your mother that I said that, of course."

Elrohir covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile and Elrond frowned at him, though with amusement and teasing in his glance rather than any severity.

"Perhaps Glorfindel is still merely fatigued from his excessive journeying and searching for a place for himself in this house. It must be highly stressful for him to be reborn and he has much to cope with here," he suggested diplomatically. "With time he might come to seem a different person to us, and we will get to know the real warrior once he is comfortably settled down."

"Yes, Father," his sons agreed, though not with any true optimism. They feared that they were already seeing the true Glorfindel, and they were not as impressed with what they had seen as they had been with what they had heard. Glorfindel would have to work very hard to redeem himself in their eyes.

**Notes:**

1). Again, Glorfindel's stay in the House of Tom Bombadill mirrors the visit of Frodo and friends in Lord of the Rings. I simply could not imagine any better way of doing it, for Tom and Goldberry cannot be changed for anything.

2). Let us assume that The Prancing Pony has been established at this tentative point (for I cannot recall the founding date of the city of Bree nor quite decide how it corresponds to the timeline of this story), and perhaps Bartholomew Butterbur – an assumption can also be made that he is a past relation of Barliman Butterbur – was even the original founder of the pub.

**Thanks to...**

1). Jaimi: Thanks for the information! D Now I know who to go to if ever I have any further questions about horses. And as far as Glorfindel biting his doppelganger goes...I must confess that I myself would not mind seeing him take a good chunk out of Pallando. I think he just might deserve it before all this is over. ;) Thank you for your review.

GAMercy: Glorfindel will be well on his way to Imladris by the next chapter, I think.

Glorfindel: Well, at least we're getting closer. I still think this should have been posted sooner.

GAMercy: Yes, yes, I'm working on it you slave driver muse.

Glorfindel: I for one, want to know what happens.

GAMercy: I do too.

Glorfindel: ...Surely you are joking...

GAMercy: You had better hope so, hadn't you?

Glorfindel: Start writing, Mercy. Now.

GAMercy: Review please? I would appreciate seeing some feedback. ...If I ever get a chance to look at it with Glorfindel on my case. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Story Title**: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

**Story Author**: GAMercy

**Story Overview**: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

**Rating**: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

**Pairings**: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

**Warnings**: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

**Summary**: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

**Disclaimer**: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

**A/N**: No matter how many times I read this over, it still sounds horribly harsh and choppy. Apologies on this account. I have to proceed, however, and hope that my efforts to detail the events of the chapter have succeeded with at least minimal success.

"Father! Father!"

In the midst of signing a very important budget report there arose a shout from the hall and the sound of quickened footsteps, which so startled Elrond that his hand jerked and the quill that he held snapped. Erestor, his chief advisor, who had been standing beside his desk, winced. Elrond merely sighed in resignation – being accustom to this sort of thing – and looked down at the messy splotch of ink that was bleeding through the otherwise pristine and elegantly scripted document paper, left behind by the quill's ink – which was taking, perhaps, a parting shot for being so roughly misused. He was just examining the broken feather nib rather ruefully when Elladan burst into his office.

Why did no son of his ever race through his house shouting, "Mother! Mother!", he wondered mournfully. Could Celebrian not stand to deal with some of the problems of adolescence as well? Elrond forcefully reminded himself that this was not entirely fair – Celebrian did deal with her share of problems, but they somehow always managed to seem less severe next to his own.

And of course it would have to be Elladan, he thought wryly. His son had made as much noise, and displayed about as much grace, as a pack of rampaging mumakil; he had always had a most difficult time in getting his firstborn to do anything quietly. He looked up to find that Elladan had finally arrived and stood panting in the middle of the room before Elrond's desk, after having bellowed all the way down the hall, with the study doors thrown wide open.

As Elladan struggled to regain his breath and stop his sides from heaving like a winded stallion, Erestor reached down with nimble fingers and plucked up the document set in front of Elrond, clicking his tongue at the sight of the blotch obscuring most of Elrond's signature.

"I'll just take this back to Master Istannolion and see if he would be so kind as to have his assistant draft you a new copy, my Lord. And perhaps I shall find you another quill as well," he said, whisking the document out of sight as he moved swiftly out of the room with his new purpose.

"Thank you, Erestor," Elrond called after his retreating back, grateful for the fact that the advisor had had the good sense to stop and close the doors behind him as he left. He rose and turned his attention back to his wayward son. "Now, Elladan, how many times must I remind you to act with a little decorum? Surely that is not too much to ask. You know that as my son there are certain expectations of you -"

"Not now, Father," Elladan interrupted in a breathless rush. "You must come and see what Elrohir and I have found."

Elrond sighed to himself. No doubt his son had heard all of his lectures enough times to have each and every one of them memorized and known by heart, but Elrond did wish that he could learn to take them to heart as well. His elder son's lack of social responsibility was a gravely troubling matter for him, as by law and custom he was Elrond's heir unless something untoward became of him. Elrond often thought that it might have been better if quiet, gentle Elrohir were allowed to succeed him instead.

He obliged Elladan, however, by gathering his robes of office about him and following after him with as much dignity as he could manage under the circumstances. Some of the servants in the hall were casting him sympathetic looks and it was all Elrond could do at times to hold his head up and maintain a steady gait.

He began to grow alarmed as he realized that his son was leading him on a direct path to one of the house wings that was set aside for the use of the healers. When they arrived at their destination, one of the rooms that was set up with a small cot for patients, but was generally kept for the storing of herbs once dried and bottled, Elrond was relieved to see that there did not appear to be a grave matter for his attention. Elrohir was kneeling on the floor, however, over the crumpled form of some unidentifiably dirty creature.

"A patient for you, Father," his younger son said softly as he looked up and their gaze met. "Elladan and I spotted him whilst on patrol down at the river. He was apparently attempting a crossing at one of the Bruinen's higher level areas and was very nearly drown, as you can probably see."

Elrond could see. The beast had obviously gotten a very through soaking, that was still not enough to rid him of any of the grime he carried on his fur, and his hair had begun to dry in spiky, matted patches. In their younger years, the twins had brought all manner of creatures back with them from the forest for Elrond's attention, and as a good and patient father, he had dutifully mended many a squirrel, fox or rabbit when it was demanded of him. It had been many years since they had done such a thing, their last rescue mission had been Advadedin, Erestor's foul tempered cat, which Elrond might have just as well put back into the wild like all the squirrels and rabbits after tending such a miserable patient and getting little but scratches and hissing for reward; Erestor, however, had saved the cat by taking an unusual liking to him, and Advadedin had taken to Erestor as well. There's no accounting for taste, Elrond had thought at the time and had let Erestor keep his pet so long as the animal came near him as little as possible.

Now he was dutifully bent over their latest find.

"I have never before seen anything quite like him," Elrohir admitted as Elrond moved closer. "I had taken him at first to be some sort overly hairy hunting hound, but the bone structure seems all wrong to me and there is far too much bulk to him to make him a speedy tracker. Perhaps his is misshapen?"

"Why, it is indeed a dog," Elrond murmured as he made his inspection, "but not a kind predominantly seen in these parts. It is not a hound fleet of foot meant for harrying foxes or elk, but rather a kind used in marsh lands and lake areas for retrieving water fowl. You see here," he pointed out to his sons, taking the rare opportunity to present them a lesson whilst they were so rapt, "they are very large boned, but the structure of the bone is mostly hollow on the inside so that they are buoyant, and their hair is slick with more oils so that the water slides off of their coats and does not weigh them down over much. I've heard the breed called retrievers, as they were designed to bring a kill back to their masters."

He checked the dog over looking for broken limbs, and as he touched him the animal stirred.

"Here is a hearty fellow," he said with a smile, "if he survived the crossing so easily. How curious, though, to see such a dog so far from his human settlement. We've no grounds which attract many fowl."

"Perhaps he was separated from a human master nearby," Elladan suggested. "If any inquire as to his whereabouts, we can have him back to them."

"A good idea," Elrond agreed. "He is in remarkably fine condition - I cannot find a thing wrong with him at all, save the fact that he's utterly filthy, being covered in dirt with burs clinging to his poor long hair. And if he were a domestic beast out alone in the wilds, no doubt he's half starved as well."

"He could have come a very long way," Elrohir commented, reaching out to scratch the animal on the head as the beast sat up and looked about at them. "He is very well tempered. Better than Elladan, even."

"Thank you brother mine," Elladan answered with a mock scowl, and Elrohir answered him with a soft smile.

"We shall get him all fixed up," Elrohir said decidedly.

"If you are disposed to take the time to," Elrond agreed, patting the dog as well. "You shall have to show him off when you have gotten him all cleaned up, but I dare say that Advadedin will not take a liking to him."

"Advadedin has never liked anyone but Erestor anyway," Elrohir replied with a laugh, ruffling the dog's neck fur affectionately, as the poor animal looked terribly disoriented and confused. "So don't you worry about that," he told the dog solemnly.

"I'm fairly sure that Glorfindel will not take a liking to him either," Elladan muttered darkly. "We had best keep the poor animal out of his way as well as Advadedin's, lest he also find himself on the receiving end of a swift kick."

Elrond shook his head, almost pitying Glorfindel. Elladan had an obstinate streak and could, at times, be rash, but he did not make enemies easily; when he did there was little that anyone could do to redeem themselves in his good graces, save only the people in the immediate family and close circle of friends. Glorfindel had obviously not ingratiated himself with his son, which was certainly a pity and might make for awkward situations, but Elladan would only ever act as he saw fit.

"Just you concentrate on your pet," he suggested sagely, "and worry about Glorfindel's reaction later."

The dog was watching them all intently, and his ears seemed to perk up at their latest conversation. Almost as if he understood what we are saying and is taking note, Elrond thought to himself with a soft chuckle of amusement. When Elrohir rose from his crouch and called to the animal, leading him away – presumably, to find him a bath – the dog turned his head back to look at Elrond until he was pulled from the room. There was certainly intelligence in the deep blue eyes, Elrond decided.

Glorfindel could hardly believe his good fortune. Not only had he somehow managed to survive the river and keep himself from drowning – he had thought that he surely would when he entered the rushing water and found it even faster than he had imagined and had been forced to give over all his strength to keep himself from being swept downstream by the raging current – but afterwards as he lay exhausted and – he thought – near doggy death, he had been found by two dark-haired strangers who were clearly elves. And they had carried him on horseback all the way back to their home some miles away even with their mounts. He did not even have to hazard a guess to know instinctively that he had come at last to Imladris.

When he had awoke again, after briefly loosing consciousness some short time before, there was a third dark-haired elf with his rescuers and they were bending over him in a plainly decorated room that smelled strongly of foxglove, sweet balm, scarlet monarda, asphodel and many other herbs of healing which Glorfindel did not take the time to identify. He was being checked over by gentle hands assessing his numerous scratches and bruises. He sighed in pleasure; those hands felt good on him, stroking and soothing.

They were talking about him, he realized slowly, discussing his type of dog, and telling him more about his new body than he himself had ever bothered to find out; all he had known prior was that it had four legs, a tail and was predisposed to chasing squirrels. They were concerned over his condition, he heard, and he caught the word "filthy" in their conversation.

He sat up and let out his breath in an indignant huff. They should try traveling through the wild lands for days on end without food, after a point, and scrounging what they sustenance they could. He'd discovered early on that he had no idea how to go about actually catching food as a dog – birds were impossible, fish hard to come by, rabbits too fast for him to catch, and he doubted anything but several pack wolves could bring down a deer. So he had hungered constantly, and could hardly remember when the last time he had actually eaten was. After a day or two he was covered head to furry feet in muck and scratches from brambles and forest undergrowth, and he imagined that he had picked up more than a few fleas along the way as well.

Good Tom Bombadill had showed him the eastern road, it was true, but Glorfindel had had grave misgivings about traveling it openly. There might be some value to a dog such as himself, he had thought, and he couldn't afford to be taken captive, even by some well meaning family of Men or halflings who wanted nothing more than to keep him as a pet; these elves were discussing just such a thing, he knew, but it would be fine to belong somewhere now that he was actually in Imladris. It was better for him to play it safe, and avoid being seen as much as possible. It was easier to turn off observers after several days of mud had accumulated, and thanks to some persistent rainstorms, no one was particularly interested in a bedraggled mutt after his fur wasn't so sleek and shiny and desperately in need of a good brushing. Had he stubbornly stuck to the road, however, instead of only occasionally using it as a traveling guide, he might have realized that there was a Ford for the river where he might not have been nearly drowned.

When the elves discovered that he was awake and apparently faring fine, there was much petting and scratching which he appreciated; he even grudgingly forgave them for the filthy comment at all the new attention he was getting. If only he had some way of telling them who he was and all about his dilemma; he hadn't realized how lucky he was that Tom Bombadill and the Lady Goldberry had, by all appearances, understood him without question. But to his shock, as he listened in on their conversation, he heard his own name mentioned and began paying even more attention to them.

The two younger elves were identical copies of each other and they strongly favored the older elf in looks. Glorfindel began paying the elder one himself more attention. He wore burgundy robes of some office and a beaten silver circlet to signify a place of some importance. Elrond had been a twin – he recalled having heard – was it possible that the occurrence, however unusual, ran in his bloodline? Maybe this elf before him, the gentle, understanding healer, was the Lord of Imladris?

But before he could find out anything more than that Pallando was making himself rather unpopular with his stolen form – something about kicking someone named Advadedin – the two brothers were dragging him off – presumably – to find him a bath and – hopefully – get him something to eat. He turned and looked back at the other elf as he left, still wondering.

**Notes**:

1). I am the partial owner of an overweight Golden Retriever - Sir Winston Copperfield and more simply bellowed after by the name of 'Copper' - and I know very little about his breed. I do know that they are water dogs the same as Labs. The rest of Elrond's little lesson is subject to error. I tentatively believe it to be truth, but will stand corrected if someone can present me with some conflicting research.

2). mumakil- the elvish word for Oliphaunt, for those who do not already know. I once, like many fellow fandom authors, attempted to use Tolkien's elvish in my stories and found that - while undeniably beautiful - the language merely bogged down my own writing style, and it became a tedious nuisance to deal with. So I avoid utilizing those endearments 'meldir', 'mellon-nin', 'pen-neth', 'meleth' etc, like the plague, I felt safe with this word, however, it being written in The Lord of the Rings and mostly understood by book fans.

GAMercy: Another chapter out of the way.

Glorfindel: With a surprisingly short lapse of time between postings. How very peculiar.

GAMercy: Yes, I did manage that surprisingly well.

Glorfindel: This chapter still has to be simply riddled with errors for you to get it up so fast.

GAMercy: Thanks for the vote of confidence, muse!

Glorfindel: Always willing to oblige.

GAMercy: Hmph. No appreciation. Never any appreciation.

Glorfindel: Review please. Feed a starving author. Honestly, she's a college student, it's some of the only sustenance she gets.

GAMercy: Oh, please, how over dramatic.

Glorfindel: And it shows appreciation.

GAMercy: Now that I don't mind. Hint hint, Glorfindel.

Glorfindel: I'm sorry, did you say something, Mercy?

GAMercy: Oh, nevermind, it's hopeless.


	6. Chapter 6

**Story Title**: The Trials and Misfortunes of Lord Glorfindel

**Story Author**: GAMercy

**Story Overview**: Another story in which Glorfindel of Gondolin is prominently featured, as well as many other well-known inhabitants of Imladris and several slippery Istar.

**Rating**: Hardly a PG-13, I would think, but I shall leave it at R just to be safe and cover all of my bases.

**Pairings**: Elrond/Glorfindel and no other side pairings that have yet cropped up.

**Warnings**: Obviously AU in nature, owing to the fact that it is not at all likely that the following events, as recorded by myself, occurred the same way in Tolkien's conceived version of Middle-Earth, but one never knows. And material containing mentioning of homosexuality, and so on and so forth.

**Summary**: The story of a recently reborn Glorfindel's return to Middle-Earth, and more importantly, the valley of Imladris, is plagued by misfortunes of the magical kind upon his meeting of a particularly odious wizard looking for a little mischief. Hopefully the joke grows old soon, having only just been re-embodied, Glorfindel really would like that body back.

**Disclaimer**: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

**A/N**: It seems that my wonderful muse's constant nagging has somehow succeeded in keeping me mindful of the need to update this particular story. I think I am setting myself a new record for the most frequent updates of one story. I imagine that I might even finish this one.

"What could possibly have gone wrong?" Tithenon asked bitterly, his glow as gray and morbid as the very shadow of death. Alatar was recently returned from a village in which he had been making inquiries for any word of Gandalf the grey and, where as in most cases he had come back with at least some piece of news, now he had nothing to share with the elven spirit in regards to the location of their quarry.

From the beginning they had been fast on the heels of the grey wizard, they had never caught up with him, as everywhere they had gone he had already passed through, but neither had they fallen back farther than several days travel. Everywhere along the way when they made inquires they had been informed sympathetically that they had only just missed their objective, hearing again and again that he had "departed a mere forenight ago." Then they had always found signs of Gandalf's direction, but the days before the sign had began to grow few and far between, and now with no news at all, Tithennon feared that the trail had grown cold. All together too cold to follow, perhaps.

And Alatar was little help. With every passing day he had grown more reluctant to continue the chase, even for the sake of Glorfindel. Tithenon thought that they would never be any help at all if things were to continue the way that they had been lately, what with the blue wizard loosing faith and longing for the eastern lands with every day more, and even Tithenon himself growing more discouraged.

"You must have misheard what was said, Alatar," he suggested, and Alatar shot him an aggrieved look for his lack of faith.

"I might send spells awry every now and again, elf," he shot back with his wounded expression, "but I know what a man means when he tells me to clear off and stop asking questions none of his bar customers would ever know the answer to. They were none of them forthcoming, even with the exchange audible to practically every ear in the room they ignored me save a few furtive glances, and none followed after me to give me the news for which I was asking in some dark alley out of sight of his fellows, which could very well signify that they do not know anything, but I have my doubts. I might have pressed the matter, but let me tell you, I was hardly unconscious of the fact that the man could very well have bodily toss me out of his door and done an impressive amount of damage on me in the process."

"You think they do know something despite what they say?" Tithenon pressed incredulously.

"I think that they're deliberately withholding information," Alatar responded huffily, still indignant over the elf's lack of faith in his abilities. "For whatever reason they're suspicious of us, and no amount of prying is going to convince them that we're all right."

"But what about Olorin?" Tithenon wanted to know. "Surely you do not think that they could have.... "

Alatar waved his hand. "No, no," he dismissed Tithenon's fears irritably. "Nothing like that. No doubt Olorin has felt the need to leave the immediate road for some reason. Struck out across country, I would guess."

"Then we must find him before he gets to far from us!"

Alatar threw up his hands. "We have gone after him, you foolish elf, we've followed him this far. But I cannot take us cross country without a very clearly marked trail to follow; I've only ever been down this road once as it is. Listen to me, Tithenon, I cannot be our guide here."

Tithenon grew thoughtfully silent and would have frowned if he'd a mouth with which to make facial expressions, as it was, he simply settled for turning his glow a soft, pensive blue. "We should get us to Mithlond, then, and either await his arrival or catch up to him there." When Alatar would have protested, he gave the wizard a reproachful green flicker. "This is for Glorfindel's sake, remember."

Still Alatar had muttered darkly for the next several days, but something happened then that they had not planned for. The duo met Gandalf the grey upon the road, under very unusual circumstances.

The world had grown suddenly dark in night. Or rather, Alatar and Tithenon had spent the day traveling persistently, sparing no thought to the hour. Alatar's feet were sore and his body weary, but he was so lost in the desire to simply be where he was going that he noticed none of it, including the time of day. Perhaps he had been unconsciously making up time.

It was so dark then that he could almost not see where to place his next step. So it was that when they acknowledged the late hour and spotted the glow of a modest campfire less than a quarter mile from the road they were traveling they both agreed to make for its warmth on such a cold autumn night – Alatar thought his fingers near frozen – and beg the company of its tender. They had not even spared a moment to consider that they had found Gandalf at long last, almost being weary beyond caring for their venture.

When at first they stumbled into the circle of light cast by the flickering flames, they saw no one. There was a bedroll that lay some feet away from the blaze, and it was rumpled as though someone had lain on it at some recent point, but whoever it was had gone. They observed each other thoughtfully for a moment before Tithenon tentatively began, "Do you think whoever's this is would mind terribly if we helped ourselves --"

He never got to complete his sentence, however, for a large body rose up out of the darkness and cast forth an enormous shadow upon them as a deep, furious voice rolled like thunder over their terrified ears. Alatar and Tithenon were practically quaking where they stood.

"Would you come at a traveler in his sleep, demons? Speak, fiends! Tell me your evil errand that has called you to dog my journey with your accursed shadows!"

Tithenon had quailed at the dreadful authority of the voice and went stark white in terror, forgetting to make his visible spectrum disappear as he often did when he went with Alatar among humans. He almost blinded them with the intensity of his fright; this effect might have caused the angered shadow specter to back off, however. Alatar blinked owlishly through the light.

"Great Valar alive, Olorin!" he exclaimed in astonishment.

Tithenon went from blinding to near disappearance at his shock and the dark, looming figure seemed to dwindle and shrink until it resembled nothing more than a tall, but bent and weary old man. A wizard's trick, Tithenon thought, disgusted with himself for not recognizing it and falling for it even after all of his years with Alatar.

"Alatar the blue, is it?" Gandalf asked, with a perplexed little frown. "First Pallando and now you," he muttered. "What business brings you forth from the East?" He gestured belatedly for them to gather around his fire without so much as a single word of apology for giving them such a terrible fright. Alatar accepted this calmly as it was and moved forward gratefully; Tithenon, of course, followed his example.

"Pallando brought us, though we knew not on what business – if any – that he went hither," Alatar answered honestly, after they were quite comfortably settled. "We followed out of concern, knowing his wont for trouble."

"And rightly!" Tithenon piped up, and seeing Gandalf's surprise at him, introduced himself briefly. "Greetings to you, Olorin the Istar and wizard of Middle-Earth, I am Tithenon, a…companion of Alatar's through some small mistake. What we would tell you – and indeed, traveled this long way after you for this express purpose – is that a friend of yours, Glorfindel, is in trouble through the misuse of Pallando's magical art."

He proceeded to pour out the story of Glorfindel's unhappy fate and their witness of the encounter. Gandalf sat quietly, listening gravely to his words until such time as the elven soul was finished pouring out the whole woeful tale and he could pronounce some judgment on Pallando's mischievous act. His lips had continually tightened as that tale progressed into a thin line, and though the wizard was obviously livid at hearing of Pallando's misuse of the power with which he had been entrusted, he stemmed his wrath and concentrated instead on careful thought.

"Tomorrow," he said slowly, taking a draw on his pipe full of weed and blowing wide smoke rings that broke on Alatar's robe sleeve. "Tomorrow I will continue on to the haven of Cirdan the shipwright, and you shall accompany me, perhaps, if you would see this thing through."

Tithenon was – to put it lightly – completely stunned. "But – what of Glorfindel? We journeyed all this way to tell you of his difficulty!" He could hardly believe that the powerful Gandalf, whom Glorfindel had obviously trusted, would forsake him in his hour of need.

Gandalf observed him in solemn regard. "I have every faith that Glorfindel will be able to handle himself for at least a few weeks. I could, of course, deal with Pallando now, but the lesson might not be memorable enough – given my current limited strength – to keep him from repeating the act once the temporary shock has worn off. I've something to collect from Cirdan at the havens that will put the fear of fire in him."

Elrond and his Lady wife, Celebrian, looked up as the door of their family sitting room opened to reveal their son, Elrohir. Both Elrohir and his twin had absented themselves from the evening meal – having it, instead, delivered to their chambers – on an errand of which Elrond knew and had casually informed his wife of over the salad course when she expressed concern at their absence. Now, it seemed, the brothers were ready to reveal the result of their joint labor.

"Father. Mother." Elrohir greeted them both with a soft smile. Elrond nodded back as Celebrian watched their son expectantly. He drew himself to his full, regal height with a flourish and solemnly intoned, "Might my esteemed colleague, Master Elladan Perhedel, and myself present our most excellent and distinguished guest, only recently arrived at the Last Homely House and freshly washed from his travels."

Celebrian waved her hand with a good natured titter of amusement in a most elegant and practiced permission – as any refined court lady should do when a guest was announced into her presence – and her pretense at dignity was rather betrayed by the smile curling her lips; Elrond also watched in amusement, reminiscent, as his wife must have been, of the games the twins had played in their minority. They waited patiently as the doors were thrown wide open and their eldest son entered with the house's newest 'distinguished' guest trotting alongside at his heels.

The dog shone almost a brilliant golden blond, and his long hair had been brushed to a high sheen and neatly trimmed so that it was no longer shaggy and uneven as it had been when Elrond had last observed him. Though he remained only a hop, skip and a jump away from looking terribly emaciated with his ribcage showing through his flesh, there was something new in his eyes – contentment, perhaps – that no longer made him look so very hungry.

He appeared a completely different animal entirely than the one that Elrond had previously examined that same morning, but was transformed. He still had the fluffy fur of recently washed animals with a scent of honeysuckle upon him. The Lord was thoroughly amazed at the transformation, and said so, complimenting his sons on their accomplishment.

"I believe that he thoroughly enjoyed being pampered as he was," Elrohir informed them gaily. "He entered the bath of his own accord and stood quite patiently and let us get on with our work."

"A born nobleman if ever I've seen one," Elladan agreed with a grin, having no inkling of how very right he was.

"He is quite beautiful," Celebrian said. "A fine animal."

As they all laid on the compliments, the dog himself stood wagging his tail and gazing back and forth between each person who spoke as if he knew exactly what was being said of him. Keen intelligence, Elrond thought again. The animal was torn between pleasure and disgust, it seemed.

"Well, my dears, but what are you going to call the lovely creature?" Celebrian asked eagerly, as she rocked the baby Arwen absently in her arms. It was obvious to Elrond that neither Elladan nor Elrohir had given the matter of a proper name much thought.

"Maethor," Elrohir suggested after a moment, "he is strong to have journeyed so far as Imladris through his own means; save the last leg of the journey, of course, which was accomplished through our aid on horseback rather than foot."

"Glorfindel, perhaps," Elladan said with a wicked smile. "His beauty is far greater and I think that this dog would not be half so arrogant and prideful. We should have to take special care, though, not to tell Lord Glorfindel that he was named after a dog."

Elrohir burst out laughing at the wickedness of his twin's humor and his expression of mock angelic innocence and solemnity as he delivered his jest. Elrond – for his part – though attempting a frown of disapproval could not help but smile instead, and the dog chose this moment to bark as if in agreement. When they had all four gotten a good chuckle out of the joke, Elrond shook his head, saying, "I do not think that would be entirely appropriate, Elladan."

"Barathalion might be a good name for such an excellent creature," Celebrian suggested demurely, and brilliant smiles of approval came over the faces of all in the room so that they knew without a doubt that the Lady of Imladris had alighted upon the perfect choice. No one quite noticed their new pet's look of disdain, but he was quite willing to go to Elrond when the elf-Lord called to him.

"We shall all enjoy having you in the family, Barathalion," he said, patting the dog's flank.

And so the dog formerly known as lord was adopted as the pet of the Perhedel family. He would always be, as they would later come to discover, the most interesting pet that they had ever kept.

Meanwhile, in a room just a little further down the same halls as the Perhedel family sitting room, a cleverly disguised wizard thought over his magical deeds with relish. The true Lord Glorfindel was now a dog struggling for his very survival in some uninhabited wilderness and he was in a position of comfortable nobility, with the chance to stir up a little fun in Imladris - the whole place looked as if it had not seen any in years unaccounted; they should all thank him when his joke eventually came to its end, but no one ever did.

The tension between Mirkwood and Imladris might be an amusing place to start, he thought. As Elrond had not yet entrusted him with any matters of importance, however, he would have to be careful of how he went about arranging that. The only way might be to get a hold of the Lord of Imladris' personal seal, or at least a good copy of it, and one of Thranduil's as well, perhaps – just for good measure.

The only two people he knew of who had the power and authority to carry and utilize a signature seal were Erestor, the Lord Councilor, and Elrond himself. Erestor guarded his seal with caution – almost jealousy – wearing it usually bound by a solid chain around his neck or upon his finger, while Elrond often left his lying carelessly about on top of his study desk, even when stepping out of the room and usually not even thinking to look for it until he had a document in need of deliverance – sending even those matters to be handled chiefly by Erestor more often than not, so that his own seal saw little use.

Yes, Elrond's ring could be easily obtained, he knew, but getting Erestor's might prove to be even more entertaining if he could manage such a thing without being discovered. A slow smile spread across Pallando's stolen face as he began formulating possible ways of doing just that.

He heard an indignant bark in his mind as he thought upon the matter – so loud that he might have thought it had come from down the hall if he had not known any better – but he did not concern himself with that. "Oh no, Glorfindel," he chuckled mirthfully, "there is absolutely nothing you can do that will stop me now."

He should have censored his words, or perhaps have found some such wooden object on which to knock, for he had forgotten the age old saying regarded by some as a universal law: anything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong. Imagine if you will, his surprise at seeing Glorfindel once more, padding confidently along at Elrond's side.

**Notes**:

1). Barathalion supposedly and for all purposes in this story means "champion". At least, it was as close as I could humanly come to it. I despise having to find original elven names, but, what else can one do but become resigned to it?

**Thanks to**…

1). Lurker: I am certainly pleased to hear that you are enjoying it. And I suppose that anyone actually keeping up with this story can take the sight of this chapter as a sign that I have not and will not abandon it. Thank you for your review.

2). Jaimi: I appreciate hearing that! I myself was most anxious to get Glorfindel to Imladris, that is where events will really be set in motion, after all. I've been remiss with posting for this story, but I hope that this chapter came soon enough. Thank you for your review.

GAMercy: This story is once again moving right along, after a long period of stagnation.

Glorfindel: Due to the proper amount of inspiration provided by yours truly.

GAMercy: Oh, please. What about all the work I put into it?

Glorfindel: Oh, all right, I suppose that should count for at least something along the way.

GAMercy: Hmph. Arrogant muse.

Glorfindel: Hurry and get things resolved, please. Knowing you this will take at least two more chapters, if not more.

GAMercy: Perhaps. I'm not altogether certain. It's not all written in stone yet.

Glorfindel: Who cares if it's in stone? Just put it on the computer.

GAMercy: ...Right.

Glorfindel: Review please.

GAMercy: Thank you for your time!


End file.
